


Two Mugs of Strong Tea

by A_Professional_Protagonist



Series: HTTYD Shorts [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Professional_Protagonist/pseuds/A_Professional_Protagonist
Summary: Astrid grieves for Stoick. CW: Major character death, grief, and all the feels.
Series: HTTYD Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633915
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Two Mugs of Strong Tea

**CW: Major character death, grief, and all the feels.**

It was early, the first hints of daybreak filtering through the gaps in the shutters. Astrid had barely slept, her body ached with the injuries and exertion of the day before, but she couldn’t sleep. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Stoick’s still body, the trail of blood from his mouth, the massive wound on his chest. She couldn’t keep still listening to Hiccup’s breathing, roughened even in his sleep from weeping the night before. 

After the battle with Drago, Hiccup had celebrated briefly with the relieved village. But the grief had struck him hard as the adrenaline high of the battle left him. Astrid had taken him home. He had sobbed as she took off his flight suit and tended his wounds. She had forced him to eat and drink. Held him in his bed as he cried himself to sleep. All the while, holding back her own grief so that she could be strong for him. Thor knew he would need strength. Too young to lose his father, too young to be chief.

But she couldn’t just lay there any longer. She rolled silently out of bed and slipped into her clothes. She crept down the stairs, deftly avoiding the places she knew would creak. The fire in the main room had been banked for the night, so she stirred the coals and added fresh wood before swinging the kettle over the building flames. She grabbed two mugs from the shelf with one hand as the other grabbed the tea chest. She filled both mugs with herbs to make the strong tea she and Stoick both liked to drink in lieu of food first thing in the morning. Just like she always did. 

Except this time she stopped. Muscle memory had guided her so far, but reality struck her like a lightning bolt as she stared at the two mugs. He wasn’t here to drink the second mug. She glanced at the closed door to Stoick’s bedroom, half expecting it to open and him to groggily exit, thanking her for the tea as he did every morning. But he wasn’t in there. And wouldn’t be again. He had been sent to Valhalla on a flaming ship. She had loosed one of the arrows that had set the flames. She had watched it burn and sink into the sea.

The kettle rumbled softly as the water boiled inside it. She looked from the two mugs to the kettle and back again. With a decisive nod, she grabbed the kettle and filled both mugs, putting one in front of Stoick’s giant chair and one in front of the smaller chair she usually sat in. Just like she always did. 

The first time Stoick had discovered her sneaking out of Hiccup’s window in the early morning, she’d been terrified, certain he was going to kill her for defiling his son. He’d been angry all right, but not about what she expected. He didn’t seem to care that she and Hiccup had been physical, just that they weren’t betrothed. Stoick had taken care of that with a quick visit to Astrid’s father. Astrid and Hiccup had been furious that their fathers had betrothed them without even asking them first. She had screamed at her father in righteous indignation, and she knew Hiccup had an epic fight with his father over it as well. But then Hiccup and Astrid conceded. They weren’t ready for the formality of marriage and the responsibility to the village that step into adulthood entailed for the chief's son, but betrothal was a compromise to propriety they could live with. 

Shortly after the betrothal, she’d been creeping down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning to discover Stoick sitting at the table, two mugs of tea in front of him. “Join me, lass,” he’d said. Astrid had been so terrified and utterly embarrassed. Here was Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, Slayer of Dragons, and father of the young man she had left naked in his bed moments before. That first mug of tea had been beyond awkward. Despite her grief, Astrid couldn’t help but smile at the memory of sitting in this same seat, squirming and red-faced as Stoick eyed her over his mug, trying to talk to her of mundane things. 

But the awkwardness had faded quickly. Stoick ceased to be the intimidating chief and started to be a person. A kind man she enjoyed talking to with in the early hours of the morning. Someone who was putting such effort into building a relationship with her. They found they both preferred strong tea to food first thing. The kind of strong tea that Hiccup complained could burn through dragonscale. Stoick and Astrid both rose early naturally as Hiccup snored away upstairs. Only a bouncing night fury could wake him. Despite his massive presence, Stoick had a light sense of humor. He enjoyed telling Astrid jokes, smart word play no one would have thought the serious chief capable of. 

Sometimes, it was almost as if he was giving her chief lessons during those early morning talks. They’d talk about leading and compromising and understanding. He taught her that the key to leading people was understanding their motivations and working with them, rather than trying to force their actions. Stoick never seemed aware of the irony that he was able to do that so easily with his villagers, but not his son. He was able to impart wisdom to Astrid in an easy way that he never could with Hiccup. Maybe he was less forceful with her, maybe she was less resistant. Maybe it was just that he and Hiccup were too similar in ways that neither would ever admit.

Astrid discovered that Stoick loved to sing and had a smooth baritone voice. Apparently, Hiccup had been soothed by his singing as a babe. It was strange to imagine the giant man holding a tiny babe, swaying and singing him to sleep. He spoke of Hiccup’s babyhood with fond nostalgia and hinted, no blatantly stated, that he was excited to sing to his grandchildren. Astrid had always brushed him off jokingly, telling him not to rush her, despite the fact that most women had children by twenty, including her and Hiccup’s own mothers. And even though she wasn’t ready, she had fondly envisioned him holding her and Hiccup’s child. Now, Astrid’s stomach clenched at the knowledge that he never would.

He’d never hold his grandchildren. He’d never drink tea with her or sing to her or tell her jokes or advise her or mock Hiccup with her… ever again

But she would remember him and honor him the small hours of the morning.

She tapped her mug against the one in front of Stoick’s chair. “Skaal, my father-in-law.” She whispered as she finally let tears fall silently down her cheeks.

**Constructive criticism welcome, comments make my day!**


End file.
